def poetry jam

once this soft turf
braided and woven
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
glooms of the live-oaks
soft as the bed in the earth
i go my way complacently
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
brother, i am fire
there is no flock, however watched and tended
stuff of the moon
gone are the three, those sisters rare
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
like eagles on up high